According to this, it's awful, but I haven't heard it. Sounds like it's for GBV/Pollard fans only. Found this about it with an internet search:

Robert Pollard
Relaxation of the Asshole
Yuk Yuk Motherfucker, 2005
RiYL:
Do you want to hang out with Bob Pollard while he’s drunk, rambling, hoarse-voiced and misanthropic? You lucky sonofabitch, you can! That is, if you were lucky enough to snag a copy of Relaxation of the Asshole, a vinyl-only LP now in its second pressing. Taking the concept of a “fan's-only” album to exponential levels of absurdity, Relaxation collects between-song banter from various Guided By Voices sets of the past few years, plus the occasional, sloppy, full-band improv jam.

As someone who occasionally socialized with Pollard, I can attest to the man’s endless, rapid-fire wit. Even when he’s about to projectile vomit, he’s got your number. But as a critic and hardcore GBV fan, I’d caution all but the most fervent Pollard acolytes against blowing any time or money on this fairly dubious release (which appears on the semi-official Yuk Yuk Motherfucker label, probably a one-off bootleg imprint about as enduring as a bottle of Jack Daniels in Nate Farley’s backpack).

I feel icky even attempting to review the album, as it’s only amusing in the context of a GBV concert. In fact, I’m sure this was never meant to be reviewed at all. But picture Bob stumbling around the stage, belting out random, awesome band names ("Marshmallow Linebacker!" "Cocker, Meatloaf and Daltrey!") and amusing, albeit disjointed, stories from his childhood, and you’re pretty damn close.

To be fair, Bob is fully aware of his tendency to ramble and his persona as the King of Beers (see the track “Hopeless, Pathetic Alcoholics”). The thing is, he doesn’t care. The few moments of genuine transgression –- distributing stage beers to underage audience members, smoking cigarettes at a New York venue after the smoking ban took effect –- aren’t quite as amusing as when Bob truly gets his hackles up. On “My Brother’s a Better Guitar Player than Joan Jett,” Bob rails against Rolling Stone’s arbitrary “Best Guitar Players of All Time” list, sounding homicidally pissed that the magazine rated Joan Jett over Pete Townshend (and really, who can blame him?) He then goes on to slag both guitarists in Radiohead and whoever else his juiced-up mind can grasp at.

So all you Postal Blowfishers and Disarmed Settlers, this might just be the fix you were looking for, especially now that GBV rests in peace. This is your chance to “hang out” with Bob and kill a sixer of Miller Lite. For everyone else -– don’t worry about what you might be missing. If you don't get this now, you never got it to begin with.